Splendid Hooligan
by Hmob1994
Summary: France keeps talking about England in his Glorious Pirate Days, and America wants to see what his ex-guardian was really like...


**A note from ME! **Aloha! I'm back with another pointless little oneshot! Hehe, this time it's about France and England. It came about because I've always thought, "Did America ever see England's Pirate side?"

Also I've currently got a huge obsession with Pirate England, and all the pictures of hims on Deviantart are so Kyaaaaa! XD

**Splendid Hooligan**

France looked around the wall he was pressed against, holding the flamboyant hat to his head, and smirked, turning to America – who, like him, was dressed in ridiculously extravagant, pirate themed clothes – pressed against the wall next to him.

"Operation 'Captain England' is go!" He hissed. America grinned back at him, excited.

It had all started one Monday afternoon, when England had once again ruined their fun during the world conference, before angrily stalking out, muttering about 'loose-living, foolish idiots', and France had wistfully contemplated aloud how much more fun it had been when England was a pirate. Spain had venomously disagreed, but America's interest had been spiked.

"He'd never been very interesting as far as I knew…" He had commented. France had smirked

"That's because you were one of two special people who he never showed that side to." He told the supernation. "The other one was Queen Elizabeth herself. To the rest of us, he was as rude, violent and barbaric as he pleased. Although…" He paused, thinking back. "He did look _incredible_ in those clothes… And his smirk… and those _eyes…_ It gives me shivers just thinking about them…" America had chosen to ignore the perverted smile spreading across France's face.

"Was he really that much cooler?" He asked. "I kinda want to see…"

And thus, despite the avid protests from poor Spain, team 'Turn England back into a blood-thirsty but sexy pirate' had been born. Of course, the 'sexy' part wasn't in the name, but it was implied heavily by France.

"Ahoy, captain Kirkland!" France greeted, draping one arm across the Countries shoulders. England paused, slowly setting his tea and saucer down on the table, before turning his head to look at France.

"… What are you doing? And why do you look like a fancy dress shop has regurgitated on you?" America tutted as he sat on the desk England was sat at, lying across the many papers.

"Well, of course, Captain," He said, trying to sound as pirate-like as possible – he'd watched Pirates of the Caribbean 8 times to perfect his accent! "We are merely awaiting your orders, to dash out and conquer these seven seas!"

England raised one impressive eyebrow.

"…Right. Well, off you go and do that, then. Tell me if you succeed." He shoved America, who rolled off of the desk with a yelp and a thud, picked up his pen and started writing again. France sighed, leaning down to whisper softly in England's ear.

"Are you suggesting we perform mutiny, Captain?" He asked, smirking as England shivered when his breath touched his ear.

"If you two don't leave me alone now, I really _will _call mutiny on you." England spat, turning to look at France. "And you will remember the punishment for that." France smirked as he started to say something which was guaranteed to be along the lines of 'you can punish me all you want' when he saw the look in England's eyes. He looked absolutely murderous. It was true he'd never liked anyone bringing up his 'hooligan' past, but this was the first time France had been almost frozen by the furious looking green. It was a look he hadn't seen for nearly five hundred years.

If possible, it made him more determined then ever to bring back Pirate England, if only for a couple of minutes.

"… Come on, Alfred! Let's leave our _dear_ captain in peace!" He called, breaking away from the enrapturing green. America looked confused, but followed.

"What, we're just giving up?" He asked, pouting. France smirked as they left England's office, closing the door after him.

"Non, mon ami. We are merely changing our tactics…"

France knew exactly what would work now.

"Think about it. All we have to do is make Angleterre _relive_ his past. Our goal is not to permanently change him, but to change him long enough for you to experience what he was like."

"Um… If you say so…"

"Oui. And if we manage to change him long enough for me to get a bit of pirate action, then-"

"Okay, that's just creepy. So what are we gonna do?"

"That's quite simple… We just-"

"Mh… Yeah… Ahah! That's so cool! I'll do it! I'll do it!"

"Do you even know how to hold a sword?"

"Huh? Isn't it the same as holding a gun?"

"… I'll do it. You just make sure he doesn't kill me in the process.

England sighed as he ran his hand through his messy hair, looking up at the building the World conference was being held in. It was in America, and the building it was staged in was ridiculously huge.

Talking of America… England frowned. France and America were definitely up to _something_… They barged into his office a few days ago, caused a few seconds of chaos, and leave. He hadn't heard from either since, which was a little worrying…

"THINK FAST!" England turned, and his eyes widened as he narrowly avoided a deadly swipe of a sword. Pirate instincts kicking in, he dropped the suitcase he was holding, darted forward and tried to grab the arm holding the sword. He didn't even have time to register the face of his attacker, but when his attempt at disarming his opponent was skilfully blocked, he backed away and diverted his gaze into a pair of alluring blue eyes.

"France?" He growled, annoyed. "What kind of trick are you-" He didn't have time to finish as France lunged again, aiming this time for his head. England ducked, and slid to the side, darting around the Frenchman. His eyes darted from side to side, taking every detail in. No civilians around – abnormal for America, but at least he didn't have to worry about casualties – nothing to be used for a shield or weapon, and his suitcase was a few metres away where he'd dropped it…

He ducked again as France spun on one foot, slicing his sword, before standing up abruptly, colliding the top of his head into France's chin, causing him to stumble back. That should give him another couple of seconds. England dashed around the dazed France, grabbed his suitcase and spun, using the momentum to slam his suitcase into France's head as he recovered.

"Oi!" An object was thrown – from where, England didn't know – and without looking, England caught it, unsheathing a glinting, familiar sword. He looked at it with awe. He'd thought he lost that hundreds of years ago, during a fight with France. It was the same sword – from the curling golden hilt that wrapped perfectly around his knuckles to the Tudor Rose engraved at the base of the blade… It had been a present from Queen Elizabeth1st herself, and England had treasured it. He'd felt broken when he'd lost it forty years after her death. To hold it in his hand, completely undamaged by the years… it was nostalgic, and built a familiar feeling inside him. He smirked viciously as he watched Francis get back to his feet, and held his sword steady, dropping the sheath. When France lunged again, he was parried by a mere flick of England's wrist. The flirtatious blonde had to jump back as England calmly sliced the air, before jabbing the sword forward, almost grazing France's torso. France smiled as he saw the smirk on England's face, and the cool, mocking green eyes. He heard a camera from the bushes, and his smiled widened. Hopefully America was getting plenty of pictures of this new, unfamiliar Arthur.

The two nations parried, sparred, thrust and circled, and as they fought, twin smiles spread on their faces. France, despite every instinct screaming at him, had to let himself be distracted by those sparkling, venomous, incredible green eyes, just for a few seconds, not enough to be in any danger…

Spotting his chance, England swiped his sword up. France parried with mere centimetres to spare, deflecting the sword and forcing it up above them. Both nations stopped, staring into each other's eyes, their swords above their heads. France tilted his head a bit, leaning slightly closer, but it was England who made the first move, his free hand shooting up to grab France's collar and tug him viciously down, sealing his lips in a strong, restless kiss. France was quick to respond, dropping his sword and tangling his hands in England's hair, a bit too hard perhaps, but who cared, and a clang announced that England had also dropped his sword, and he grabbed a handful of France's silky locks, and both of them still had their eyes open, and France nipped at England's parted lips and vaguely noticed that something was leaving England's poisonous green eyes but for the life of him couldn't figure out what and choose instead to focus on deepening the kiss and-

England turned crimson as a blush flooded his face, and he let go of France's hair as one knee instinctively shot up…

France left the kiss as pain flooded through him and bent over, falling to his knees. A shaking, blushing England stood above him, opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish, before scampering back and clearing his throat.

"Blo, Bloody frog…" He stuttered, walking back to his suitcase and picking it up. He paused when he saw the sheath he had dropped earlier, and picked it up, letting his fingers drift across the intricate pattern. He looked around and spotted the sword lying next to France, who as still crumpled in pain on the floor. Walking towards it, he knelt down and picked it back up, sliding it into its sheath. He sat down next to France, refusing to look at the blonde.

"I thought I'd lost this in a fight with Spain." He muttered. "Where'd you get it?"

France didn't respond for a bit, before shifting, crawling to sit up.

"Spain had taken it as spoils of war." He answered. "I bought it off him as soon as I found out he had it. He wanted to melt it down and destroy it." England still didn't look up as he unsheathed the sword slightly, tracing the Tudor Rose engraved into the hilt.

"Why?" He asked. "Why'd you buy it?" France shrugged.

"Don't know." He answered, standing up. "Now, mon petite Lapin, shall we got to the meeting?" He asked, a mischievous smile lighting up his face as he held out his hand to his one time Ally. England flushed.

"I told you centuries ago not to call me that." He snapped. He took the offered hand anyway, letting France pull him to his feet. As the two walked away, he stowed the sword safely away into his suitcase.

"But mon petite Lapin, if I've succeeded in turning you temporarily back into a pirate, then I probably would be able to turn you back into the helpless child who ran to me whenever his brothers picked on him! I've still got your cute little cape somewhere…"

"IDIOT!" England hit France, and stormed off. "I never ran to you!"

"Oui, oui!" France called after him, running to catch up. "Oui, lapin, you did! And-" The two voices trail off as they entered the building. Still hidden in the bushes, America stared after them.

"Um… Guys?" He called. Shrugging, he looked at the camera. Thank of all the money he'd make once he showed these to Hungary!


End file.
